Chapter 6

Two hours later, I glided into the well-heeled throng gathered at the Vancouver Aquarium located in Stanley Park in a floor-length, deep red gown that plunged daringly to my tailbone in the back and hugged my curves in the front. Even though I'd never admit it and be forced into more nightmarish shopping free-for-alls, I was grateful to Priya for "encouraging" me to buy it at a film and television industry wardrobe sale that she'd dragged me to.

My waves floated past my shoulder blades, hiding the shaved patch of hair with the tattoo, while my only jewelry was my bubbe's - Talia's mom's - diamond-studded titanium stacking rings that I'd inherited along with the tapestry and sofa. I wore the shimmeriest touch of gold on my lids and a pop of red on my lips.

I even had red-painted toenails peeking out of the shiny black sandals that were the only heels I'd ever found that didn't irritate my leg. Generally, I had to be cautious even with these if I didn't want to end up hobbling around, but so far so good.

I checked my coat, stepped into the large circular foyer, and rolled my eyes.

Fundraisers weren't just social outings, they were military campaigns. More than one poor event planner had suffered a nervous breakdown curating and divvying up space to entertain - and court - both Untainted Party members and the Nefesh elite.

Since tonight's fundraising benefited a local non-profit that provided financial assistance to out-of-town families with kids undergoing treatment at Children's Hospital, both communities wanted to help out. Or smile politely and then quietly compete to see who could be more charitable than the other.

The lobby was Switzerland. No arguments, no insults, no magic. It was as much an area for the two groups to play nice as for the rest of us Mundanes to take a break from the two extremes.

The design aesthetic here was simple: other than the large underwater photographic prints in rich colors, the rest of the space was white and sparkly. White linens covered tall bistro-style tables, the white floor tiles gleamed, and hundreds of white fairy lights had been strung up, providing the only illumination. Light piano music added to the overall soothing effect while photographers circulated, getting shots for the local papers and various PR pieces for Party and House use.

Curious as to how the rest of the space had been divided, I ducked into the darkened room with the six-foot-high tropical fish tank that beckoned from my right. Techno music with a broody edge flowed through the speakers, perfect for both the large shark tank that anchored the length of the opposite wall and the steampunk-clad acrobats magically dancing and swirling high up in the center of the room. The occasional fireball tumbled above our heads before bursting into showers of red and black sparks that waterfalled harmlessly down.

A server dressed in a similar steampunk vibe offered me a bland-looking cake ball.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Wish balls," he said. "They'll be whatever flavor you want."

"And?"

"And nothing. No mood-enhancing food tonight."

In that case, I helped myself. One of my favorite flavor duos burst on my taste buds and I moaned.

The server peered at me. "Not a chocolate moan. Too earthy for vanilla or lemon." He tapped a finger against his lips. "Aha! Bacon and maple syrup."

"What gave it away?" While there were Nefesh mind readers, they were rare and tended to be heavily medicated. This guy was too upbeat.

"I know my moans, honey." He batted his lashes and moved on.

I headed into the long gallery that housed the Pacific Canada and Treasures of the BC Coast exhibits whose tanks showcased good Canadian fish from various national habitats. A string quartet with members of the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra played a lively little number as written by a long-dead white guy, and the servers were polished in crisp black-and-white, carrying trays with exquisitely plated high-end appetizers. The lights were low, but inviting. Everything was in impeccable taste.

Oh, and there was my mother.

Giving a chin nod to the octopi chilling in their tank, I headed for her.

Talia was surrounded by her usual group of Untainted Party hotshots, Mundane business leaders, and men who wanted into her pants. I'd never seen her accept any of those offers and I was happier not knowing. For a woman in her early fifties, my mother could have easily passed for a decade younger. We shared our dark hair and pale complexions, but she had gray eyes where mine were dark brown like my dad's. Despite her questionable fashion choices for her only child, she was always impeccably turned out. Tonight she wore a knee-length lace dress in the palest mauve with a pencil skirt fit. Her chin-length bobbed hair was razor straight with nary a strand out of place.

"Hi, Mom." I dutifully air-kissed her cheek, forgoing the use of her first name in front of the general public. One of our many negotiations.

She swept a cool gaze over me. I couldn't tell if the momentary flash was approval for my look or a warning. "Darling, how lovely."

A familiar-looking gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair in a bespoke navy suit flashed a toothpaste commercial smile that complimented his relaxed stance. Probably a performer of some type. "Talia, you couldn't possibly have a grown daughter."

My mother speared him with a dazzling smile. "Thank you, Daniel. You're too kind. And it's wonderful you were able to get away from prepping your upcoming trial to support these kids."

Ah. That's why I recognized him. Daniel Hughes was a well-known local criminal defense attorney and often on TV.

"We should chat," he said. "I heard something that might interest you."

She placed her hand on his sleeve. "How about you get me a drink first? I'm absolutely parched."

He strode off to do her bidding, Talia watching him with an assessing look. When I'd said she didn't play games, I'd meant with me. In her professional life, the woman was a shark, but she was so good that she could tear into a person's soft underbelly and they'd present their own intestines as a gift.

"May I have a moment of your time?" I smiled apologetically at everyone while I pulled her away.

"Five minutes, Ashira. This is a work night for me."

"What do you know about a Star of David tattoo?" I watched for the tiniest sign of guilt or knowledge but she frowned.

"A tattoo? Really?" She turned me around, examining me for the offending mark. "I hope you at least got it somewhere you could cover up."

Yeah, my clit. It could do with some communing with the divine.

"I didn't get one." Willingly.

"Then what are you going on about? Honestly."

"Talia," I said through gritted teeth, "did you tattoo me at some point in my life? Did Dad?"

She peered into my eyes. "Are you high?"

What was it with mothers automatically jumping to that assumption?

"Geez, Mother." As the full moon brought out the werewolf, so my mother brought out my raging fifteen-year-old self. It was a toss-up as to which was more dangerous, though at least werewolves were fictional.

I plucked a glass of Chardonnay off a passing waiter's tray. Booze. Thank gawd.

"Smile, ladies."

On cue, Talia and I pasted on our "happy family" faces.

Satisfied, the photographer wandered off in search of his next victims.

"Joshua!" Talia motioned some dude around my age over. "Keep smiling," she murmured. "Make a good impression."

"Tattoo: yes? Or no?" I took a healthy slug of wine.

"Of course not." She adjusted the neckline of my dress.

She may not have been lying, but she was still annoying. I brushed her hands off and unleashed my sweetest smile, the one I'd practiced in the mirror until Priya had signed off on it.

"Less tooth, darling," Talia said.

I knocked back the rest of the white wine and had exchanged it for a second glass by the time Josh reached us.

Talia did the introductions then moved off, quickly swallowed up by another group clamoring for the usual appointments, dinners, drinks at the club, and even tennis games. My mother handled all requests with unparalleled aplomb courtesy of some freaky social butterfly genetics.

Josh Millstein was perfectly attractive with his blond hair and green eyes, perfectly dressed in a stylish trendy suit, and made perfectly correct conversation, asking about me before making some self-deprecating joke about working at a hedge fund.

I'd have been fooled into believing that he was enjoying himself if I wasn't a cynical bitch trained to assess people's smallest movements. Every time Josh lifted his highball to take a sip, his eyes darted left to a blonde woman in a nearby group. Game, set, and match.

Josh was a dude pressured into a meeting and looking to score elsewhere, an easy-to-read book, not a fascinating puzzle. All the better to wrap this up quickly.

"Give it three more minutes," I said.

"Excuse me?"

I took his arm, twisting it to see the face of his Phillipe Patek watch. "In three minutes, we can part. You can move in on the blonde and I can consider my duties to my mother discharged for the evening."

"I wasn't - "

"Sure, you were. Don't care." There was a certain freedom in not giving a damn about most social interactions.

Suddenly there was a lot more interest when he checked me out. "What if I don't want to go?"

"You do. You want a woman like that."

"And what kind of woman is that?"

I finished my second drink but there was nowhere to put the glass so I twirled the stem between my fingers, studying the other woman. Pretty with a too-bright smile that had an undertone of brittle to it, she laughed with a loud, bird-like twitter at a joke the one man in her crowd had made. "Put it this way, if her life was a horror flick, there'd be credit kill written all over her."

Josh laughed. "And which horror movie woman are you?"

I smiled. With definitely too many teeth. "The last one standing who sent the bad guy to Hell. Now, as our time is up, you'll have to excuse me. I have a man to find."

"Lucky man."

I winked at him. "I'm the lucky one."